


Aftermath

by argyle4eva



Series: Being Sherlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Humor, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a werewolf and a vampire go shopping at Ikea?  Greg Lestrade has some cleanup to do, that's what.  Epilogue to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/133527">"Under the Influence."</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a comment by Amythestice; couldn't resist typing up a short epilogue to the earlier fic once I'd imagined a particular scrap of dialogue. Unbeta'ed cuz that's the way I roll today, baby. (Meaning any and all errors are mine, and shouldn't reflect on my usual lovely betas!)
> 
> Podfic available as a zipped file, courtesy of themusecalliope, [here](http://www.mediafire.com/?blwrcj4g3l5zn7y)!

DI Greg Lestrade surveyed the chaos and wondered what he'd done to offend the Universe _today_.

Whatever it was must have been exceptional, because thus far, in apparent retaliation, he'd been sent sent a stolen-goods ring, secret rooms, faked arson that inadvertently turned into _real_ arson, sprinklers going off, terrified civilians, multiple firearms discharged . . . and Sherlock Holmes. Of course.

And it had all gone down in an Ikea. Dear God.

"Did it never _occur_ to you," Lestrade asked Sherlock, "to call Scotland Yard before deciding to torch off the place?"

Sherlock, bright and bouncy and all but shooting little sparks of happy energy from his fingertips, waved dismissively. "Once I realized what was going on, I decided to take advantage of the element of surprise. Faked arson is a particularly effective way to spur individuals -- in this case the store manager -- to drop everything and seek out that which is most important to them -- which in this case was access to the hidden rooms and the incriminating documents inside . . ."

"Didn't stay fake for long, did it?" Lestrade asked, and from the corner of his eye saw John wince. John was wearing a turtleneck today, which went a long way towards explaining Sherlock's borderline-deranged energy levels.

Sherlock shrugged off Lestrade's sarcasm. "That's what the ceiling sprinklers are for," he said. The slow drip of water in the background and the dank humidity of the air were distinctly noticeable. "And they performed admirably. Anyway, as I was saying, I knew what was happening the minute I realized the interior dimensions of the building didn't match the exterior, and when I saw the manager's socks there was really no doubt left . . ."

Lestrade held up a weary hand. "Spare me. Just this once, I don't want to hear your brilliant train of deductive reasoning. Unless you can tell me how I'm going to fiddle the paperwork to keep you out of jail and on the streets where you are _theoretically_ useful to me."

Sherlock's mouth snapped shut and he went from looking elated to miffed in no-point-five-seconds.

Lestrade took Sherlock's moment of offended silence to fix John with a double-barreled glare. Unlike his partner, John Watson -- normally one of the most controlled people Lestrade knew -- was looking skittish and spooked, his eyes wider than usual. Might be time of month, with him, but Lestrade detected a streak of guilty conscience.

"We were just shopping for some bookshelves," John said, as if that were supposed to mean something.

"That's as may be, but the end result's _this_ " -- Lestrade gestured around the worse-for-wear home furnishings outlet -- "and today I'm _not_ in the mood for it. Especially after I was up half the night dealing with emergency reports of a pack of shapeshifters on a howling rampage in central London. You two wouldn't happen to know anything about _that_ would you?"

"No," John said immediately, the picture of innocence; and, "Of course not," Sherlock scoffed a half-second later. Neither of them appeared to be lying, but then again, Lestrade was well aware he'd given them an out with the phrase _a pack of shapeshifters_ \-- a lone shapeshifter and a vampire wouldn't precisely fit that description.

"Good. Didn't think so," Lestrade growled. "Don't let it happen again." He had the pleasure of seeing two very carefully-masked but not _quite_ invisible reactions to that statement. Then the tiredness hit him, and he sighed.

"Go on, get out of the way and take your bookshelves with you. You know the drill -- leave your statements with Donovan within the next twenty-four hours."

Sherlock _might_ have tried to say more, but John, always the more practical of the two, latched onto Sherlock's arm and dragged him off with the barest of farewell pleasantries.

Lestrade watched them go until they were out of sight and he was reasonably certain they'd clear the premises without further mayhem. Then he squared his shoulders and prepared to pick up the pieces yet again. It was rather frightening, how familiar cleaning up after Sherlock (and now John) had become; it was practically his second career.

He scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to increase alertness (it didn't work; he needed more coffee) and couldn't resist a tired chuckle.

 _When most people think of vampires and werewolves on the rampage, I'm pretty sure this isn't what they picture,_ he thought. _At least these two rampage in the right direction._

_But thank God the full moon only comes once a month._


End file.
